Jean Paul Sartre is fucking with me.
And if i knew where that motherfucker was buried at the moment? i’d dig him up and feed his rotted corpse to my deranged dog.
Just too many wires crossed today… and i’m ready to crush something. Like a beer can. On my head.
Nothing big. Nothing earth shattering. Just nuggets of annoyance that are making my brain melt. OK. Despite what my son has suggested, perhaps i’m not beyond the occasional PMS either.
Screwed up an on-stage set tonight. Blaming a mangled finger only goes so far. Truth is? Horribly out of practice, can’t play for shit any more, and when i get de-railed with my guitar work, my vocal work sucks out loud. literally.
Driving home? Very distracted inside my brain – many reasons, good and bad – and took the wrong exit from the highway. The one i’ve taken for 20 years to go home. Um… Oops. As i found myself driving by my old street, and putting on the turn signal? Realized “Dumb-fuck! You MOVED two weeks ago.”
Got home, let the dog out back for a quick ‘relief’ pee. And noticed that he had clawed up about a 3′ square section of the rug downstairs. No apparent reason other than a bad signal from the dog planet.
Final annoyance? One of the eighty seven smoke detectors in my new condo has a low battery. At first? Hard to geolocate the right one. Checked several – and as a result, they are all now chirping like sex-crazed electronic crickets. I have no idea how to shut them off. Ripping them from the ceiling seems a tad over-reactive.
So, i’ll simply turn up the TV and crawl into bed. Sometimes? That’s all you can do…